Internal Threat (27 page)

Emma could not see Mike. Where he had been just a second ago was now empty space. Heart hammering, she turned to the side passenger window to get a better look.

She screamed as Mike’s face appeared at the glass. Blood trickled from his mouth as his eyes went wild with fury. His gun was in his hand and he brought it level with the window. It was a perfect shot. For some reason, Emma traced the trajectory of the bullet in her mind and saw that it would hit her in the chest. She did not have time to move. Mike’s finger was already squeezing the trigger. She flinched as the shot rang out.

There was the sound of splintering glass and then nothing. Emma felt no pain. Is this what it’s like to die? she wondered. Then the logical side of her mind took control. She had not been shot. Glancing back up at the spider-webbed window, she realized why. Bulletproof glass.

Mike realized it at the same time and screamed in frustrated rage. He pulled at the door handle but found it locked. He moved to the next one but Emma slammed the lock down before he could open it. He made it to the rear hatch before she could. The door swung open as Emma backed away from it. Mike sneered while raising his gun for the final shot.

Before he could, he was thrust to the side as a figure barreled into him. Emma heard the grunt of hand-to-hand combat and scrambled out of the Humvee. On the ground, Mike wrestled with Jason Worth who was landing blow after blow to Mike’s injured midsection. Emma’s eyes frantically scanned the ground for Mike’s gun. She found it at the same time Mike’s searching hand did. Mike snatched it up before Emma could reach it and fired point-blank into Jason’s chest.

“No!” Emma screamed.

Jason fell limply to the side, a ragged hole carved between his ribs. Mike climbed up, sighting down the barrel at Emma who glared back at him defiantly.

“Lower your weapon!” a voice boomed out. Mike and Emma’s head snapped to the side where General Griggs stood with three MP’s. All of them had their guns trained on Mike’s head.

“Unbelievable,” Mike muttered. “Who’s going to take care of her now, Emma?” he asked, his voice shaking with emotion. “You ruined everything, you know that?”

Emma had stopped listening, focusing on Jason’s immobile form. She crawled over to him, clutched his face in her hands. His focus was distant, eyelids fluttering.

“Jason,” she whispered fiercely, tears pricking the edges of her vision. “Please. I’m so sorry.”

His gaze found hers as he spoke so softly, only she could hear. “Emma,” he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you…for believing…in me.”

Emma clutched his fingers until she felt his grip loosen and become limp. She reached up and closed his eyelids.

“Another death on your conscience,” Mike’s voice came from beside her.

“Not mine,” she said. “Yours.”

“Goodbye, Emma,” Mike’s glare was murderous as he aimed the gun at her forehead.

Gunfire exploded around Emma and she felt hot metal pierce her flesh. The last thing she saw was Mike’s body peppered with bullets, jerking like a ragdoll from the impacts.

Then the pain enveloped her and her world became darkness.

“S
an Clemente Island?” Ashley repeated.

Matt nodded. “That’s what he said.”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“I have,” Matt said, shifting his position to alleviate some of the throbbing pain in his head. “It’s a small island off the coast. The government owns it.”

Larsen, who was driving the Porsche, called over his shoulder, “There’s a Navy station there.”

“Why would he want to go there?” asked Ashley.

“It has to be where the last obstacle is that will bring down the whole system.” Ashley looked at Matt in confusion. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. All those servers may be random to me but someone linked them together. Compartmentalized pieces of an overall system. If one server goes down, no big deal because you’ve got six backups. But take them all completely offline-”

“And it would be impossible to get everything back online,” Ashley finished the thought for him. “At least, not anytime soon.”

“The only thing I haven’t figured out is what system it brings down. Banking, power grid…” Matt thought out loud.

“Defense,” said Larsen from the front seat. Matt and Ashley’s heads snapped to his direction. “We have a network of defense layers set up throughout the entire west coast. Satellites, anti-missile systems. If those go down, we’re completely vulnerable to an attack.”

Matt shook his head, reeling. He knew as soon as the detective said it that he was correct. John had been so precise in his timing that he must have been aiming for a window of opportunity that had been planned far in advance. He glanced at his watch.

“Larsen, how do you think John is getting to the island?” Matt asked.

“If he didn’t want to be seen, best way would be a small boat, maybe a fast jet ski.”

“Then maybe we’ve got a chance,” said Matt. He turned to look at Luke. One thought echoed in his head: keep him safe. It was what this entire night had been about. His promise to Katie would go unbroken, even if he had to die to keep it.

“Luke,” he said, speaking low and moving closer to his son. “You’re going to go with Ashley-”

“What? No!” Luke shouted back, hurt and anger filling his eyes.

“Listen to me,” Matt tried again.

“No, I’m not leaving you!” Luke said. “I’m not leaving you again.” Tears spilled down his flushed cheeks.

Matt reached out with his arms, pulling Luke closer. The boy buried his head against Matt’s chest, sobs racking his small frame. “Luke, you have to listen to me,” Matt cooed softly, holding him tight. “Okay, buddy?”

Luke steadied his breath, raising his head to meet his father’s eyes.

“I am not going to let you be hurt again,” Matt told him. “I made a promise to your mom and I’m not going to go back on it. I swore to keep you safe. And if you stay here, you won’t be. Do you understand?”

“I’ll go with you,” Luke replied firmly.

“No,” Matt shook his head.

“I’m brave, Dad. Can’t you see? I’m brave.”

“Luke, you’re the bravest kid I’ve ever met. Hell, the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

He watched Luke’s face light up through the streaked tears. “In fact, I’m not as brave as you. And that’s why you need to go. If I know you’re safe, I’ll be able to do what I have to. I can’t do it without you, buddy.”

Luke mulled the words over and finally nodded. “Alright, Dad.” He grabbed Matt in another hug.

“I love you,” Matt whispered to him. “Don’t forget that.” He looked up to find Ashley staring at him. “Once I go,” Matt said to her, “you take this car and you drive east. As quickly as you can.”

“Matt, you don’t have to do this,” she said.

“She’s right, Weatherly,” Larsen offered. “I can call in the troops right now.”

“Oh really?” Matt snapped. “And how long do you think it will take them to figure out you’re telling the truth? After you’ve been spending half the night with the murderer you were supposed to bring in. They’ll have you sitting in questioning for hours.”

Larsen kept his mouth shut, seeing Matt’s point.

“Alright,” Ashley said to break the silence. “We’ll go.”

Matt reached out, offering her his hand. Ashley took it, interlocking with his fingers. “Thank you,” Matt told her. “For everything.”

She nodded her understanding.

“And Ashley, if I ever did anything that wasn’t very…”

“Not now,” she interrupted. “Save your apologies for when I see you again. You got it?”

Matt smiled thinly in return.

“So what’s the plan, Weatherly?” Larsen asked.

“Any chance you have access to a helicopter?”

“As a matter of fact,” grinned the detective. “I know just where to find one.”

T
his part of the ocean had been calm throughout the night. Now, however, as dawn crept its way toward the horizon, the water became choppy and dotted with whitecaps. Seven miles beneath its brewing surface, a tube of metal that spanned a length of thirty feet and a width of just nine rested calmly. Occasionally, an underwater swell would buffet the metal sides and jostle the occupants but, for the most part, it was still and dark outside the round portholes.

Sasha and his two companions had begun their journey beneath the rusted decks of a fruit distributor’s cargo ship. For an envelope stuffed with Euros, the ship’s captain had agreed to hide their midget submarine between stacked pallets of bananas. When they had reached edges of the Pacific Ocean, the sub was attached to ropes to be lowered into the ocean. As Sasha and the other two stowaways approached, the captain held out a small burlap bag of browning bananas for each of them.

“For your journey,” he said with a smile.

Sasha noted how the slim man with a curly beard who was their leader did not return the warmth. He was already carrying a small nylon zipped bag and shook his head at the offering.

“All packed, I see,” the ship’s captain said, nodding at the nylon bag. The man simply glared in return. Sasha took his bag of bananas with a nod of thanks to the captain.

The captain gestured for the men to step up to the submarine whose open top hatch was now level with the side of the ship. The bearded man went first, stepping up on to the wall and extending his foot towards the hatch, Sasha following on his heels. Suddenly, Sasha slipped on the slick surface of the deck. His bag of bananas shot out and clipped the nylon bag. The bearded man’s eyes went wide as he fumbled the bag briefly. Sasha saw moonlight glare off of metal inside before the bearded man caught it and zipped the bag tightly shut. His shoulders sagged in relief.

The man spun, facing down Sasha. Before a word could be exchanged, the bearded man’s free hand lashed out and struck Sasha’s mouth with a vicious punch. Blood spurted as a tooth clattered to the deck at the captain’s feet. Sasha knew better than to react so he did nothing but hang his head in shame as the group resumed their entry into the submarine. They shut the top hatch and pressed a button to seal it with a pneumatic hiss. Ropes lowered the craft down into the water where it sank beneath the waves.

For days, the men lived in near silence. Hours were filled with the mundane tasks of checking monitors and switches while plotting their course. The only interruptions came when their radar detected a large ship approaching their area above. Upon hearing the alert, the men would spring into action to power down their systems. As the shadow of the ship’s hull would pass over them, they would watch the murky water for any sign of depth charges. None ever came.

“Radar cloaking circuit boards embedded in the submarine’s skin,” the Commander assured his two fellow travelers. However, disabling the sub’s power was another layer of security to avoid detection by any prying eyes.

Their leader, the bearded man who Sasha and the other only knew as Commander, was clearly someone who had spent his life aboard submarines such as this. He was the first to know the danger of detection had passed and the only one who had every inch of their craft mapped out in his head. The three men had not met each other until boarding the cargo ship. All had been recruited by different sources that had no need to be shared amongst themselves. Compartmentalized information was always best, they all knew.

On the third day of their voyage, the Commander placed a printed piece of paper in front of the others. He pointed at the coordinates printed upon it and said, “That is our destination.”

Sasha shared a glance with the other man before nodding his affirmation. While heading to the front of the sub, they both noticed that the Commander had withdrawn the small nylon sack that had never left the inside of his shirt since its fumbling during boarding. He headed to a slim closet at the back of the sub and unlocked its door. Reaching inside, he heaved out a large box with a hard plastic shell. A large lock sealed it shut. After unlocking it with a key strung on a chain around his neck, the box’s top half swung open on oiled hinges.

“What is that?” Sasha dared to ask.

“This is why we are here,” the Commander answered. He waved Sasha over.

Upon peering inside the box, the man saw nothing but a group of gunmetal gray pieces set into die-cut foam to keep them steady. He reached out to touch one but the Commander’s hand instantly clamped down to stop him. “Looks like a bunch of junk to me,” Sasha mumbled, rubbing his wrist and stepping away.

Over the next twenty-four hours, the Commander tinkered with the contents of the box. Electric screwdrivers whirred and the stench of ozone filled the stale air of the chamber. The other two men only caught glimpses of large metal components coming together but had yet to see what the final product would be. The Commander seemed to be working from an instruction booklet in his head, having no need for direction or help. He only looked up when the submarine slowed its engines.

“Why are we stopping?” he snapped, looking up from his work.

“We are at the final destination,” Sasha told him.

The Commander glanced at a digital watch on his wrist. “On schedule,” he murmured to himself, nodding with satisfaction. He stood up and crossed to a small laptop computer resting nearby. Tapping on its keyboard brought the screen to life. His eyes scanned it briefly, before snapping it shut.

“We are on schedule,” he announced again. Sasha tried recalling a schedule that he been told about, but could not. Ignoring his companions’ slightly confused expressions, the Commander went back to his makeshift workstation. With swift movements of his hands, the disparate metal pieces were snapped together. He reached into the box and pulled out a dull black cone and screwed it on one end of what he was making. The mysterious object was now revealed to the other men.

“A missile,” breathed Sasha.

The Commander nodded. He withdrew the small nylon sack and unzipped it. With steady hands he withdrew a square metal box. On its top was a yellow sticker with a black circle in its center, intersected by three black triangles. Sasha and the other man shared a worried look, knowing exactly what that sticker indicated. They watched as the Commander slipped it into a space in the center of the missile and adjusted it until a loud click was heard. He screwed a metal casing over its top to hold it into place.